


Swallows

by HeatherAster



Category: Miss Fisher and the Crypt of Tears (2020), Miss Fisher's Murder Mysteries
Genre: Between the Lofthouse Lawn and Jack's Guest House, Crypt of Tears "Fixit Fic", F/M, Happy/Fluffy ending, Jack does a lot of thinking, Not Beta-ed - we die like men (as they say), Phryne has emotions, and a plan
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-12
Updated: 2020-08-12
Packaged: 2021-03-06 02:54:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,597
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25856209
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HeatherAster/pseuds/HeatherAster
Summary: She sighed, unable to remove Jack’s pained expression from her mind’s eye.   Yet even within the anger she had seen a tiny flash of relief that she was still alive, and she could work with that.  And despite all his stoicism, Jack had never been able to stay mad at her for long.  A flicker of hope danced tentatively in her heart and she formulated a plan.
Relationships: Phryne Fisher/Jack Robinson
Comments: 14
Kudos: 88





	Swallows

**Author's Note:**

> Many of us have struggled with the Memorial Service scene in the film, and the way Phryne and Jack were with each other. It seemed out of place after three seasons of lovely build-up in the show. Personally, I needed one more scene to balance that incongruity. It turned into several scenes, and a bit of a "think piece" for Jack, but hopefully it provides some patchwork for our hearts - a few stepping stones from here to there. And I've always been thoroughly charmed by the whole swallow pin thing, so I carried it through and brought it around at the end.

+++

The welcome guest of settled Spring,  
The swallow, too, has come at last;  
Just at sunset, when thrushes sing,  
I saw her dash with rapid wing,  
And hailed her as she passed.  
+++

“We weren’t sure what to do with your things, Phryne,” Eleanor was saying as she walked with her back to her same guest room at Lofthouse Manor. “We decided to wait until after the services at Westminster and then let your parents tell us what to do. You should call your mother, dear. She took a very bad turn when she read the news you were dead.”

“I will, thank you, Eleanor,” Phryne said as she entered the room and dropped her bag on the bench at the foot of her bed. It looked exactly as she’d left it, even with a scarf thrown casually over a chair and an unfinished letter face-down on the writing desk. She swallowed hard, remembering that letter and wishing now she’d finished and sent it. 

“Is there anything else I can do for you, dear?” Eleanor was saying as she pushed back the curtains to fill the room with daylight.

“No,” Phryne said with a forced smile. “No, thank you, Eleanor. I’m fine for now.”

“Will Jack be joining us for dinner?”

“Uhm, no,” Phryne replied, her voice sounding dull in her own ears. “I don’t believe so.”

“Oh, that’s too bad. He seems quite the gentleman, your Inspector,” Eleanor smiled, then patted Phryne on the arm. “Champagne in the drawing room whenever you’re ready.”

“I’ll be down shortly,” Phryne assured her. She watched Eleanor shut the door, then opened her case to take out what needed to be laundered. On top was the scarf she had removed at her last stop, as the weather was warmer than expected. She slowly unfolded it until she found the small pin she always wore when she flew - an inexpensive, but utterly priceless swallow brooch. She ran her finger over it gently, remembering. 

Her throat squeezed and her eyes watered, and the dark talons of pain curled around her heart. 

“Jack,” she whispered as she sank down on the bed. 

For the second time since she’d known him, he’d believed her to be dead. The first time, she hadn’t understood his emotions right away and thought he was overreacting - until she realized he wasn’t. When he’d told her the thought of losing her had been unbearable and declared their partnership over, she’d known how serious it was for him. She had silently mourned the loss of that partnership for a little while, never letting anyone know how deeply it had affected her. 

The fact that she had been deeply affected by a man walking out of her life was not new - her father had abandoned their little family a few times when she was a child, and she never wanted to feel that way again. She had promised herself long ago that she would never let a man mean so much to her that it would hurt when he walked away. But then she’d never known a man like Jack Robinson. And now he had walked away from her again, this time in anger as well as sadness, and it all felt so terribly final. 

She allowed herself a private moment to cry. 

She had thought it would be fun to land on the lawn and surprise everyone. But by the time it sank in that she had been reported dead and her gathered family and friends were holding a memorial service for her, it was too late to retrieve her unserious and insensitive remarks to Jack. Having seen what he went through the last time he’d thought she was dead, she could only imagine his grief from having to go through it again, and this time without immediate reprieve. Then just like that, he was gone and a cold, dark chasm opened up in her soul. 

She went to the writing desk and picked up the folded letter she’d begun. There was a thin layer of dust which she brushed off with her sleeve before unfolding the page. 

“Dear Jack -  
“You know I’m not much of one for writing letters, but I wanted to get some news to you. I am headed out in the morning to Palestine to rescue the niece of a Sheikh who is being held in a British prison for speaking out against the occupation. I suspect that will only take me a couple of weeks, and then I plan to return to Melbourne.  
“I can’t wait to see you again - and everyone else. Save me a couple good murder cases will you?  
“Give my love to-” 

And that’s where it ended, when she’d been interrupted and then completely forgot about it in the rush to leave for Jerusalem. Jack never knew she was planning to return, never knew where she was headed and why. Not that she felt the need to tell him everything, but she had wanted him to know she would be back. She had wanted them to share the anticipation of seeing each other again because she had hoped that maybe she’d be brave enough to finally let him know how she really felt. And then she had ended up returning to London instead, so maybe it was better after all that she’d never sent it.

She sighed, unable to remove Jack’s pained expression from her mind’s eye. Yet, even within the anger she had seen a tiny flash of relief that she was still alive, and she could work with that. And despite all his stoicism, Jack had never been able to stay mad at her for long. A flicker of hope danced tentatively in her heart and she formulated a plan. 

+++++

Jack paid the cabbie and stepped out onto the sidewalk. The guest house seemed infinitely more dreary this afternoon, now that Phryne had careened back into his world again, full of color and vigor and a blinding light that seared his soul. He couldn’t bear to enter the drab building at the moment, so he turned and started walking. 

He allowed himself a heavy sigh as he meandered through the streets of London’s historic South Bank, where the new and modern threatened to overwhelm the old and historic: a perfect metaphor for how Phryne’s modern ways had crept in and changed the entire landscape of his traditional outlook, and there had been times when it had been overwhelming. 

Today, however, had been overwhelming for an entirely different reason. When the plane flew over his head, a spark of crazy hope had flashed in his chest. When she landed on the lawn and jumped out of the cockpit, he was not the least bit surprised, but the shock to his system was another thing altogether. He’d been through this before with her, thinking she was dead, and he truly didn’t know how much more his heart could take before it shattered into a million pieces. 

Reflecting on their brief exchange, he knew he’d handled it badly and allowed his anger to lead instead of his utter relief. Not that her flippant comment about his hat had helped. She’d taunted him and teased him in her infuriating way. Did she think that pretending the prior six weeks hadn’t been hell for him would allow them to pick up where they’d left off? 

Or did her flippancy rise in direct proportion to the depth of her emotion? It was a thought that made Jack stop in his tracks and mutter a curse: Had he been reading her all wrong? Was she afraid of what she felt for him? And if her emotions were that strong, why weren’t they more evident? In all the time they’d been together, hadn’t he done everything in his power to make her feel safe - body and soul? He didn’t mind if she ignored his attempts, he expected it, but didn’t she at least know everything about her was safe with him? How could she be so cavalier at such a profound moment? 

Jack knew she wasn’t a shallow person. She cared deeply about many people, including himself, yet he couldn’t determine her real feelings for him. It was one of the things that was so maddening about being in love with her: Why were her feelings for him so difficult to read? Reading her was one of his favorite pastimes, and he had discovered many of her quirks and nuances in the time he’d known her. He even figured out early on that when her voice rose an octave she was scheming something. But when it came to how she felt about him, his vision became cloudy, as if he were looking into a muddy pond.

Speaking of which, his walk had led him into a large park with a sizable pond, the water mostly covered with algae. He ambled over to a bench, removed his overcoat as the sun found its way through the clouds, and sat down to ponder the current state of his life and heart. 

He’d traveled twelve thousand miles to pay his respects - it had been the least he could do. And when his best laid plans were thwarted by her yet again, his stubborn pride hadn’t been able to overcome even one of her cheeky comments. Maybe she had been just as shocked to see him and blurted out the first thing that came to mind, instead of what she was really thinking, or feeling. Maybe they should have just taken a moment to be quiet together, to wait until they could speak honestly and sincerely, instead of snipping at each other like they always did when tensions were high. 

He had lied when he’d said he was done with her - he could never be, his heart would never let him. He just wanted to be done with the pretense and the walls and the self-protection and the damned social proprieties that neither of them seemed able to circumvent. He just wanted to talk to her, but she didn’t seem interested in dealing with all that had occurred since they’d last seen each other; seeming to prefer the safe, banter-infused stasis that neither propelled them toward each other or pushed them apart. He had once thought that would have been enough for him, but since she’d been gone he’d realized it would never be enough - his heart would only accept all or nothing from her, if he were ever to see her again. The report of her death had made the choice for him, and after six weeks, he had almost come to grips with it. Almost. Her sudden appearance had been emotional whiplash, and in that moment he had let her dictate the terms by her words and attitude. Apparently she still wasn’t ready for “all”, so that meant his choice had to be “nothing”. 

A sudden movement and familiar, churring bird call caused him to look up at the pond, in time to see a pair of swallows swooping and diving at the insects hovering over the water. He snorted a sardonic laugh through his nose and shook his head. When he’d given Phryne the swallow pin, he’d hoped the symbolism of the swallow itself would have meant as much to her as his act of returning to her a piece of her childhood. When he’d seen her wearing it on her scarf at the airfield, he’d believed it had, and that at some point she’d fly back home to him. She’d flown back all right, but not as any bird he recognized, least of all a swallow, a bird that mated for life. 

But people aren’t birds, and he scolded himself for the fanciful thought that things would work out so simply and romantically. People - especially unique creatures like The Honorable Miss Phryne Fisher - were far more complex and unpredictable than migratory birds. He couldn’t have predicted her glib, almost dismissive, attitude toward him after not seeing him for all these months, and he hoped the finality of his response had been unpredictable to her as well. 

He checked his watch - five o’clock, no wonder he was hungry. He sighed and turned back toward his guest house, figuring he’d grab a meal at a cafe along the way. It was still several days before his ship sailed back to Australia, so maybe he’d visit a museum or two while he was here, although his heart wasn’t in it. He would probably end up hiding out in his sparse quarters until he had to leave, stewing in his anger, and trying to prepare himself for the rest of his life without Phryne in it. But somehow, some way, he knew she wouldn’t take his no for an answer, and he didn’t know what he’d do then.

++++

“Eleanor,” Phryne said quietly from the bottom of the stairs as Lady Lofthouse walked past, returning to the drawing room from the kitchen. Eleanor stopped and Phryne stepped close to speak softly. 

“How long has Jack been in London, do you know?”

“Just a few days I believe.”

“Do you know where he’s staying?”

“I think he said he’d taken a room in Newnington, near Waterloo Station.”

“Thank you, Eleanor. I’m going to call my parents now and then I’ll be in. Save me some champagne.” She smiled and Eleanor smiled back and returned to the party. 

The Lofthouse’s had installed a phone booth in an alcove off the main hall, and Phryne stepped inside and shut the door. She rang up her parents and spoke to them for about fifteen minutes and promised to visit soon. Hearing her mother break down with sobs of relief struck her deeply. It wasn’t that she didn’t know her mother loved her, but it wasn’t something they usually talked about either. Phryne considered that her mother had already lost one child, and losing the other must have been horrible for her. 

“I’m so sorry, Mother,” Phryne said at the end of their conversation, surprisingly repentant for her lack of communication. “I should have sent a telegram before I left for England. I didn’t know then what the papers were reporting.”

“I’m just so glad you’re all right,” Lady Margaret whispered through her tears. “I want to be angry with you, but I can’t. I know it’s not your fault I had to grieve over you. I just wish I hadn’t had to.” Phryne’s thoughts went to Jack, standing on the lawn, clearly a hair's breadth away from an emotional outburst, and she suddenly understood. 

“I’m not as strong as I used to be, so I worry more easily,” Margaret was saying. “Please call more often, just to let me know you’re alright.”

“I will Mother, I promise,” Phryne said. “I need to make another call and then they’re expecting me in the drawing room,” she added. 

“That’s fine, darling. I love you and hope to hear from you soon.”

“Love you, too, Mother.” Phryne hung up and dialed the central London switchboard.

“Bart Langley in Merrow Street, Walworth, please,” Phryne said to the operator, and tapped her foot impatiently while she was connected. 

“Langley Investigations,” a gruff and tired male voice said on the other end of the line.

“Bart, it’s Phryne Fisher.”

“Back from the dead, are we?” Bart said with a twinge of surprise, his voice perking up. “And here I thought I’d have to find another brilliant but insufferable lady detective to use and abuse me and then toss me aside like a wet rag.”

“I never abuse you, Bart.”

“Ah, but I wish you would,” he mused, and Phryne could picture his lopsided grin.

“I’ll be sure to put it on my list the next time I see you, in the meantime, I need your help and I will pay you.”

“Anything for you, my dear, as long as it doesn’t involve picking locks or climbing into windows; that’s your department.”

“I need you to find someone for me.”

“Does this person want to be found?”

“Not by me at the moment,” she admitted. “But I need to speak to him. That’s why I called you.”

“A man that doesn’t want to be found by Phryne Fisher is either crazy or a criminal.”

“Well, he’s certainly not a criminal,” she said. 

“Who is this deranged soul, then?” Langley asked. 

“His name is Jack Robinson, and he’s a Detective Inspector from Melbourne Australia, staying in a guest house in Newnington, near Waterloo Station.” Langley’s pencil scribbles were audible through the phone line. “He has a gray topcoat and dark blue fedora, brown hair, blue eyes…,” her voice trailed off but her mind kept going - strong cheekbones, sharp jaw, straight nose, soft lips, broad shoulders, capable hands, intelligent mind, and a heart that runs as deep as the Pacific Ocean. She had to see him again, and at least try to make things right.

“Do you want me to get a message to him? Have him call you?”

“No,” she said with emphasis. “No, that won’t be necessary, Bart. Just tell me where to find him.”

“It’ll cost you,” Bart said. 

“Please hurry,” Phryne said. “I don’t know how long he’ll be in London before sailing back to Australia. I’ll pay you whatever you need.”

“Well, I was going to ask for a date, but I wouldn’t want to be in this bloke’s way,” Bart said with a knowing sigh. 

“I’m still at Lofthouse Manor, so call me as soon as you know something,” Phryne said, ignoring his remark. 

“I’ll get right on it, my dear,” he assured her and they said goodbye. Phryne knew Bart was as good as his word, so she tried to put it out of her mind until he called back. A few drinks would be a good start, and she let herself out of the phone booth and headed for the drawing room. Once she knew where Jack was, she would figure out what to do next. 

+++

Back in his small, gray room in the large, gray guest house, Jack hung up his coat and hat and removed his suit. He considered burning the lot of it, including the damned new fedora, so he wouldn't have to carry the painful memories of the day back home with him. There were enough painful memories around every Melbourne street corner to keep his heart busy for as long as he lived there. 

He put on a pair of faded pajama pants and flopped down on the bed, feeling the tears burning the back of his throat again. He’d never before walked away from anyone he’d loved, and that single act of self-protection hurt worse than losing her. He considered it selfish and cowardly, but to be selfless and courageous today would have caused an internal combustion he didn’t know either of them was ready for. He really was far more emotional and dramatic than a man ought to be, but he’d never had a hard time hiding it until he’d found himself tangled up with Phryne, and then it was too late. 

Phryne. His wild, beautiful bird had returned, unscathed, and what should have been one of the most joyous moments of his life had been fraught with tension, anger, and pride, each following on the other like dominoes tumbling to the ground. He tried to figure out at which point he could have changed his response, said something different, ignored her remarks and reached out for her. Maybe if he were a braver man, he would have gathered her in his arms and finished their kiss from the airfield - a moment that was a world away but felt like yesterday. Maybe if he hadn’t been so reticent toward her in all their time together in Melbourne, things might be different. Maybe this. Maybe that.

Suddenly all the would-have-, could-have-, should-have-beens came crashing down around him, and another round of sobs broke free. He thought he’d lost her in an automobile accident, he thought he'd lost her in a train accident, but this time he’d really lost her, and it was due to the most mundane reason of all - their ridiculous inability to communicate their feelings. If they couldn’t get that straight, then what hope did they have for anything else?

The abyss of despair rose up to meet him in that moment, and he covered his face with the pillow as he fell in. 

+++

“Phone call for you, Miss,” Crippens said, tapping her lightly on the shoulder just as dessert was being served at supper the next day.

“Who is it?” she asked.

“He didn’t say, but indicated it was important.”

“Thank you, Crippens,” she said, getting up and setting her napkin in her chair. “If you’ll all excuse me, I have to take a phone call,” she said to the other diners. “Lofty, save me some tiramisu,” she teased before walking quickly to the phone booth and picking up the receiver. 

“I have that address for you, Miss,” came Bart’s voice over the line.

“Bart, you’re a lifesaver,” Phryne breathed, using the pad and pencil left in the booth to jot the information down. “I’ll have your fee delivered to your office right away.”

Later that evening, she secured Lofty’s motorcar and drove to Jack’s guest house, and thanks to Shirin, she had a good reason. She hoped it would be enough to convince Jack to join her at the church. If she could just see him again, work with him, get him talking to her again, she knew she could bring him around. She could deal with him being mad, but she could not handle the idea of him being done. Not while she had breath in her body.

Her nerves sizzled and her stomach twisted in knots as she stood outside his door, knocking gently, calling his name. In the end, she’d barely gotten a dozen words out of him before she gave up and went to the church alone. But now she knew where to find him, and that gave her more hope than she’d had twenty-four hours ago. 

“You’re not getting away from me that easily, Jack Robinson,” she said to the steering wheel as she drove. “Not now that you’ve finally come after me.”

+++

He wasn’t at all surprised that she’d found him the next night, disrupting his perfectly laid plans to hide in his tiny quarters until his ship sailed, and wallow in his own pity for the rest of his life. They may not have been the most well-thought-out plans, but at least he could control them because they were his. Whenever Phryne entered the picture, plans were shattered. He had to admit that it was usually for the better, but just once he’d like to make a plan and not have her render it obsolete. 

There was no use for it now, he thought as he dressed quickly. She’d asked him to come along on a midnight rendezvous with a potentially dangerous man. He’d never forgive himself if she were hurt and he could have stopped it, so he called for a cab and headed out for a new adventure with her. Mysteries and adventure were the language they spoke best with each other, but maybe, just maybe, there would be opportunity in the near future to speak more clearly about how they were feeling. 

The crazy spark of hope returned, and while there were still ruffled feathers that needed smoothing, she was alive and well, and as long as they were both among the living, there was always hope. 

+++

**Three Weeks Later**

+++

I heard the dream of lovers, as they found  
At last their hour of bliss,  
And fear and pain and long suspense were drowned  
In one heart-healing kiss.

+++

Jack was sitting on the veranda of their rented villa in a leafy suburb of New Delhi, reading a book and waiting for Phryne’s return. They had solved the mystery of her murdered husband, the Maharaja of Alwar, and she’d decided to celebrate with a two-day trip to a spiritual healing spa in the mountains with her former mother-in-law and a secretive sect of Hindu monks. That hadn’t sounded appealing to Jack, so he’d stayed behind and done some sight-seeing instead, and even though he’d missed her, it had made the anticipation of her return that much more exciting. 

He looked up at the crunch of gravel on the driveway to see the hired car pulling in, and he smiled. He walked out to open the door for her when the car stopped and she threw herself into his arms. They kissed unashamedly in the driveway while the driver unloaded her bags to the porch, and were still kissing minutes after he’d driven away. 

“Welcome back,” he said when their lips finally parted.

“So good to be back,” she replied. “And I have a gift for you.” Her eyes twinkled when she said it and he narrowed his eyes at her.

“Why do I think that it’s something risque and possibly illegal?” he asked her.

“It all depends on how you use it,” she grinned and took him by the hand to tug him toward the house. “And I can’t wait to test it out.”

Jack helped her carry her bags into their bedroom - “their bedroom” being a phrase he would never get tired of - and she dug into her makeup case and took out a small blue bottle. She held it up and walked toward him with a saucy look. 

“What is it?” he asked, taking the bottle from her, but the writing on the label was in Hindi. 

“Massage oil, Jack,” she purred. “The monks swear by it for all manner of intimate touch. It’s all natural, and infused with bergamot and honey to arouse the senses.”

“Sounds interesting,” he said, still a little wary. Their adventures in the bedroom exceeded their travel adventures by a factor of ten, and each time brought a new sense of excitement and wariness, until they both collapsed, spent, sweaty, and sated, and Jack wondered what he'd been wary about in the first place. 

“Oh, it’s going to be VERY interesting,” she replied. She set the bottle down on the nightstand, slipped his braces off his shoulders and her nimble fingers began to work on his shirt buttons.

“As it happens,” he began, “I have a gift for you as well.”

“Do you,” she stopped and looked up at him.

“You’re actually about to unwrap it,” he grinned.

“Well, how can I resist that invitation?” she said and returned to his buttons, yanking his shirttails out of his trousers. When his shirt was on the floor, she looked up at him again.

“Keep going,” he encouraged. 

She gleefully peeled off his undershirt then froze. “Jack,” she breathed as she reached for his chest and the new swallow tattoo resting above his heart, almost the same shape and size as the pin he’d given her all those months ago. “Oh, Jack,” she repeated his name and looked up into his eyes. 

“I promise to always come after you, Phryne,” he said, taking her hands. “I couldn’t imagine being anywhere without you.”

“And I’ll always come home to you, Jack,” she replied. His heart swelled and he gathered her close for a meaningful kiss. When he pulled back to look at her, a drop of moisture glinted in the corners of her eyes and he was struck again by the depth of their love.

“Welcome home, fellow swallow,” he said as he brushed an errant drop off her cheek.

“Yes,” she sighed. “Welcome home.” 

++++

**Author's Note:**

> Poem excerpt 1 from  
> “The Swallow” by Charlotte Smith  
> https://genius.com/2234744 
> 
> Poem excerpt 2 from  
> “Chimney Swallows” by Horatio Nelson Powers  
> https://allpoetry.com/Chimney-Swallows


End file.
